| Logs |
2010 June 13
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Sixth Movement, Fifth Verse
The Cathedral of Enoch, in the land of Nod. Outside it is like unto hell. Inside, with the red glass windows and black marble and basalt columns and flying buttresses and collonades, it isn't much different. And before them, in a shadowy chapel to the side of the basilica, is the hooded, hunched, chained figure of what Abrahamic faiths call the first murderer: Cain.
The cathedral is silent at the moment. The dozen singers in the choiry are silent and unmoving. The plain white candles in the iron candlesticks above the otherwise unadorned altar in the heart of the cathedral cast a faint illumination over the polished basalt casket that sits before the altar. The cathedral is silent, at the moment and echoes with the mortals' voices; the choir ceased their singing as Mikal addressed Cain.
Mikal smiles at Jareth; if anyone can help this poor mortal, it will be pretty Jair. She starts to look around, secure in leaving Cain with her packmate -- then freezes as the silence suddenly hits her. The singers have stopped? ...creeeepy. They were too spooked to stop earlier. What have she and her pack done that was so dramatic that the choir has been shocked into silence? ...and what will that 'doing' or silence now summon? She straightens a bit in worry, one hand resting lightly on her bow as she looks around warily.
Jareth's smile is gentle and says, "You know, they say that your father had another wife before your mother."
Norris peers at Cain, trying to decide how to proceed. He's noted the silence, just like Innana...Mikal, that is. He so often thinks of her now as the war goddess, though she's clearly not being ridden, now. In the end, he decides that kindness could not possibly be a bad thing...going to his belt, he gets a waterskin, and offers it to the cringing man. "It's water." he encourages.
Mikal takes a silent step towards the singers, whispering to them as she glances around, "Why did you stop singing? Who are you?"
Cain looks away. "This I have heard," he says softly. "The memories... they confuse me." He looks towards Norris, hesitantly, and reaches up to warily draw back his hood, accepting the waterskin. "Th-thank you," he murmurs.
As he drinks, one can see that he was, once, young-looking, of the dusky skin and strong features that characterized those of the Levant and the Fertile Crescent. But at the same time he is unimaginably old, with a lined face and weary, unfocussed eyes that speak of long, long decades of living.
And upon his brow....
... nothing. At least, nothing that can be easily seen. The eye slips over that spot without focussing or taking in details, like the 'blind spot' of a physical eye. As he lifts the waterskin up to his lips, the iron manacles clank; the wrists are red and with sores where the metal has chafed against the skin for... for however long he has been here.
Mikal does not spot anything that leaps out at her -- the entire place is just slightly off enough that she can't get suitable bearings as to what might be out of place here. Her question to one of the singers is answered, sort of, by one of them. The woman in red and black habit opens her eyes, except the eyes are blank white. "We sing to soothe the mind of Cain of the Twigs," she whispers, somehow musically. "This is the task we have been set. For he may not die by his hand or by that of others.'
Mikal blinks at the woman's eyes, then glances at the other 11, "Who are you all? What do you mean, of the twigs? How can you be freed?"
Jareth waits for Cain to finish taking his drink before reaching for the man's hand again, smiling, "And did your father ever speak of her? This supposed wife of his?" He winces at the sores on Cain's wrists, reaching down into himself to soothe the hurts.
Norris lets Cain keep the skin for the moment...Mikal questions the singers, and Jareth questions the man. So he makes the query that neither of them can make...he asks the metal. Moving past Cain carefully, so that he does not startle the man, he touches the chain that keeps him in place, asking it how long it has kept Cain imprisoned, and who put it on him.
Cain looks well exhausted, and takes small sips from the waterskin. "He... he did not. Said it was better that way." He closes his eyes, rubbing his head with the hand that Jareth doesn't take. "I... mmph. It is confusing. I remember.. I remember the Waking, and the war with the Havelim.. they wouldn't let us cultivate the land, they claimed it as theirs but every time we tried to make an accomodation they wouldn't.... And though we shared the same god, the priests always ruled in their favor, just because we were starting to plant and grow and live in a single place and not move everywhere.... And o ther as the war, the first war, and I killed the Havelim's chief's son....
"But... but I also remember the Dreamtime. And it was Abel who was bright in the sight of the LORD. And he was the favored son of both Adam and the LORD...." He shakes his head. "Some days... I can separate the two, better than others."
Mikal whispers softly, mostly to herself, as she stares at the raggedy man, "Who are the Havelim?"
Jareth nods quietly as Cain talks, smiling sadly. Just one more way people have reviled Lilith was to make her Adam's first, wicked wife. He wrinkles his brow as the attempt to help Cain fails.
The woman Mikal is speaking to says, seemingly with unlimited patience, "We are the Keepers of Enoch. We are those who went with Cain into his exile. And we have no desire to be free. we are where we must be and we are doing what must be done. No hand of mortal shall strike down Cain. Not even his own.
Papayios answers. [The Havelim are those whom Cain's people fought in the earliest days, the first war between the nomad hunters, and those who were settling and sowing fields. My first wielder was of the Havelim.]
To Norris, it is a bleak telling; the chains are inutterably ancient, and he can tell that they are amongst the oldest things in the Dreamtime. They ahve been with Cain for a very, very long time; the earliest memory that comes from them to Norris are of them being struck, and almost immediately being placed upon Cain.
Mikal gives her bow a startled look, "A Havelim first bore you? I thought you said it was one of the Hindu deities!"
Mikal glances over toward Cain, adding a bit acerbically to the woman, "You may not wish to be free, but I'm betting he's not thrilled with being here!"
The bow murmurs quietly, [He was. The Havelim was my first mortal wielder.]
Mikal says, "Oh." She sounds a bit deflated, adding, "Sorry. Umm... so what happened to him? Did he just die? The mortal Havelim, I mean?"
Norris shudders. The chains themselves, of course, have endured, as metal does, and they have fulfilled their function. That does not change the fact that their function outlines a very sad tale indeed. "He has been here so very long..." he murmurs.
Papaiyos replies, [He was killed in the war with Cain's people. And the divinity who created me, took me up into his Heaven afterwards. He did not like what had happened.]
The woman does not reply to Mikal's comment about how Cain might not want to be there.
Cain, in the meantime, is looking at his wrist, which is a little less sore-covered. "Thank you," he says softly. "But why do you help me?"
Mikal murmurs wryly to Papaios, "No surprise there. Deities rarely like their favored dying."
Jareth reaches to brush Cain's hair back from his face, "Because you are in pain. And, as I said, El Amon Re has many promises that have been broken."
Mikal says to the woman, "What are your names? Why are you blind? Why do you give Cain the appellation 'of the twigs'?" She thinks, then adds firmly, "What happens if he leaves here?"
Norris considers. "Cain may not die by any mortal hand, not even his own." he muses. But there's nothing saying he has to stay here. Not to mention that if he can leave here, then there's other options...if he truly wishes oblivion, there are gods that can give it to him.
Papaiyos replies, [No. The Bull of Heaven did not, either. That is the god Cain speaks of.]
Cain grimaces a little. "I put myself into pain. I killed in a time when there should have been no killing. I know that, if not me, then someone else would have killed first... but it was I who took up the tools I had first crafted and used them against those... those silly stubborn wandering nomads!" He looks up to Norris. "Longer than I even have words for. But... tell me," he looks between Jareth and Norris. "Who are you? Why have you come here?"
The woman replies, "I am Zillah. We are of the blood of Cain. We are blind because we must be, for we were blind to the sins of our ancestor. He is called 'of the twigs' because he was a tiller of soil and reaper of grain." She pauses, and seems to have to think about what would happen if Cain left. "The Bull of Heaven would not wish to see Cain wander the Dreamtime," she says at last.
Norris says, "Travellers, Cain. Seeking answers to questions."
Cain coughs a little, offering the waterskin back. "If I can answer, I will. You've shown me a kindness; hospitality demands recompense... and it is a recompense I will gladly give, hospitality or no."
Norris snorts, though, at Zillah's comment about what The Bull of Heaven does or does not want. If he doesn't want it, it makes Norris want to offer it.
Mikal blinks, saying slowly, "The... bull of heaven?! Wait. That means... he is the sacrifice! Where is his goddess, then?"
Norris takes the waterskin, looking at Jareth. "We were told there is a name here, or rather a piece of a name, that we seek. Are there any writings here, in this place. In books or scrolls, or on walls?"
Mikal adds softly, her gaze far away and her voice melancholy, "I... there was a Bull... he was beautiful, but he did not love me, in the end."
Jareth reaches for Mikal's hand, eyes sad.
Norris looks confused, clearly not getting the reference.
Mikal says, "He was called Dumuzi. Later he was Tammuz." She looks at the woman, although it's clear she's not really seeing her, as she whispers, "The demons took him to hell... he was the sacrifice..." She blinks at the touch, turning and focusing as she realizes it's Jareth -- and she takes a quick, almost sobbing breath, then wraps her arms tightly around Jareth, burying her face against his chest."
The woman looks blank. Cain for his part glances over at Mikal's exclaimation. "That was our god, Lady. The Bull of Heaven." His brow furrows again. "I.. remember in the waking, the oldest of our tribe, speaking of a time when there was a goddess... but that had been when we were still ourselves nomads." He looks to Norris. "A... name?" he frowns. "I know of only one--" He breaks off, blinking. "Whose name," he asks quietly.
Jareth wraps his arms around Mikal and kisses the top of her head, whispering nonsense soothing syllables.
Norris looks at his companions...they're caught up in the sadness of a goddess, and he knows how intense that can be. Mikal will need a moment to recover. He looks at Zillah, and the others, and then at Cain. What could it matter if he told the truth? "The Voice. The one who speaks for El-Amon-Re. The Metatron."
Cain's expression hardens a little. "That one," he growls. The sound of his voice catches Zillah's attention, and she 'looks' in that direction at him. Cain catches the movement, and says in a less tense voice. "He put me here. Long after the Architect put his mark on me, for vengeance was to be his and his alone.... Metatron came and spirited me away here." He stands, shuffling over to the casket. "I don't know how I got it. I think he had to give up part of his name to keep me here."
Jareth's eyes widen.
Norris blinks. So. Freeing this one may not be as simple as breaking the chain...or rather, undoing the chain might be like trying to free the Fenris. He looks at the chain with a new interest. "Why does he fear you?" he wonders, more to himself than to Cain, although he does look at the man to see if he might have an answer.
Mikal glances over, her face still half hidden against Jareth's chest, and murmurs softly, "Check the casket and the chain, if it used part of its name to bind him here."
Norris nods agreeably, moving to act on Mikal's assertion...examining first the chain, and then following it all the way to the casket meticulously.
Mikal thinks a moment, then says to Norris, "I'd guess it put Cain here because vengeance is supposed to belong only to the Bull of Heaven... and if Metatron has somehow restrained the Bull, then there's no one to stop anyone from harming Cain -- which would let everyone know the Architect is not leading his angels through the Metatron?"
Norris says, "Isn't the cover-up more dangerous, though? The Architect's power was all but uncontested until recently. Who would dare touch Cain? Isn't the warning in his story enough to dissuade any who might try?"
Cain is a juggernaut, trudging his way to the casket without concern, though he isn't trodding over anyone. "I don't know if he fears me," he grumbles. "I know I was inconvenient. The Bull said, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay.' And then for some reason he forgot about me, even past the seventh generation of mine. Then the Metatron and a flock of angels came, put me in the 'care' of my erstwhile descendants," he jerks a thumb at the choiry, who are now looking a little uncomfortable; they begin to prepare to sing again. "And they took me down here."
Norris gets more or less that same story from the chain and the casket. They were here for a very long time, not crafted until Cain got here. Even the casket is of the same age.. even if its contents are not. But no Name comes to him.
Cain fumbles with the lid of the casket. "And I found this waiting for me here," he mutters angrily. "Like some albatross to hang around my neck--" He blinks, pausing. "Now how did I know that idiom?" he asks softly.
Mikal is still leaning against Jareth for comfort, but her small face is quietly alert now as she listens. She says quietly, "There's one who'd dare harm Cain, if he were irritated or desperate enough -- Cain hmself."
Norris shakes his head. "I cannot find it. The chain and the casket are as they seem...well crafted, but not forged with the Name." He peers at the casket, and then at Cain. "By your leave." he suggests, tucking a thumb at it. He means to open it.
Jareth's brows draw together and he asks, "Who made them?"
Cain finally rouses himself, then nods to Norris. "Go ahead," he says at last. "It's not like I can't open it myself, but..." He looks at his hands where the manacles have rubbed raw the wrists. "I'd probably do more damage." He answers Jareth: "Probably Tubal. He was a smith, like me. Well, sort of a smith. Had to make those adzes and hoes and sickles somehow...."
Jareth motions Cain back over to himself, "Let me get at your wrists again, child." The voice is his still, but the concern and the words are Lilith's.
Norris smiles understandingly at Cain. "Ease yourself. This will be no trouble for me." He readies himself, tensing his muscles...and then tests his ability to lift the lid. His ears perk....a smith! How fascinating. But he's got this lid to deal with first.
Mikal murmurs thoughtfully, "Tubal-Cain."
Cain goes over to Jareth; he looks a lot more animated, if angrier and more energetic, now. He nods to Mikal. "That was his name, yes."
The lid to the casket opens easily. Within... is the perfectly-preserved body of a mortal. The clothing and accessories suggest an early hunter-gatherer from the Fertile Crescent. He is otherwise unremarkable, except that he looks like the spitting image of Cain, except Cain seems to have a more reddish tint to his hair.
And with the opening, there is a faint rumbling felt through the floor and walls.
Mikal straightens, her arms no longer wrapped around Jareth. She glances around, her voice wary as she surreptitiously draws her bow, "What was that?"
Jareth takes Cain's wrists and mutters to himself, "Imprisonment. Madness and imprisonment. Oh, my love..." He reaches again for that power, wanting to soothe this hurt.
Norris's brow creases. "Oh, of course, show your mighty fury now, Metatron. Does it look like I care? I do not fear your anger!" he shouts at the building in sudden anger. He takes his maul, and starts looking for the place that anchors the chain that keeps Cain tethered.
Mikal glances around, her eyes bright and worried. "Pack brothers, we are getting distracted here, and we have alerted something we shouldn't have. What is our goal? We needs must accomplish it and go, I fear." She glances at the choir, her voice getting more crisp, "You there, the choir. Do you know any part of the name of Metatron?" She steps towards the body as she speaks.
Jareth nods and says, "We need to find the smith. The one that crafted these chains."
Mikal says puzzledly, "Why is that?"
Norris grips his mighty hammer. "I have only one idea...if it was the name that imprisoned Cain, then perhaps freeing him might also free the name. I will try, at least." He lifts the maul high, with the intent to sunder.
There is no answer to Norris's challenge. Except as he is seeking the point where Cain's chain is anchored, he feels a slender and pale hand on his arm. "Please," the woman says; she must have slipped from the shadows, because she is not one of the ones from the choiry. "Do not do anything rash. Gather what you came for, and depart. There is much left for Cain here."
Within the casket, there is a stone that supports Abel's head. Except it is not a stone, it is clay. And engraved upon it is another portion of the True Name of the Metatron. It is clearly such; the language that is not a language written there, and yet understandable to the four mortals as a portion of a word they can themselves pronounce. Perhaps in some way it exists only conceptually, something they can perceive and understand but has no actual for which could be translated into Waking terms.
Jareth answers Mikal, absently since he's concentrating on the wrists, "Because if Metatron gave part of its name to have these crafted, he may have given it to the smith."
Mikal whips around at the voice, an arrow nocked and aimed at the woman. Her stormy eyes are cold as she nearly hisses, "Get. Away. From my packmate!" She adds flatly, without looking away from the woman, "Name here, on clay tablet."
Norris was stopped only by the gentle hand of the woman, confused...and that's when he sees the tablet. "It *is* here!" he crows, on top of Mikal's sudden anger, reaching out and carefull lifting the ancient clay.
The woman is blind as well, but she can hear the threat in Mikal's voice, and the sound of the bowstring being pulled. The woman backs away a few steps. "You do not understand," she says softly and worriedly.
Mikal's voice is slightly less icy with fury, but still flat, as she snaps, "Enlighten us, then."
The woman says, looking eerily at Mikal, "He is here for a reason. That reason is penance. His god said to not kill, and he did. He chose to. He must stay."
The clay tablet is surprisingly light, and comes out of the casket easilly in Norris's hands.
Mikal carefully lowers the bow, although she doesn't unnock the arrow yet. Firmly she adds, "If he wants so to stay here, then why didn't the Bull of Heaven bring him here?"
Norris looks at Mikal, uncertain. He doesn't care what the Architect does or doesn't want...if Mikal says to free Cain, he'll do it. He half wants to anyway, but he'll follow her lead.
The woman replies, "It is not our place to question such decisions."
Mikal doesn't look away from the woman right away. She simply stares for a moment... then she shifts so she has line of sight on all the blind folk, and is between them and her Pack, before looking to Cain, "Well? You were brought here by a lackey of the Bull of Heaven, from what you say. Have you seen or heard the Bull since then? Do you want to stay?"
Cain purses his lips, narrowing his eyes as he looks at the choir and then around at the building. Then he looks to Mikal levelly and says flatly, "I have not. And I would rather not be here."
Mikal says, "Can you break your chains?"
That's good enough for Norris. He hands off the tablet to Jareth, and then takes his maul in both hands again.
Cain says wryly, "I think they're about to be broken, actually...."
Mikal says quietly, "No. Not yet. Answer, please." She studies the chains, noticing they're welded, not locked -- pity, that -- then raises her head to sense for other minds. How many of these creepy blind folks that can actually see are here? She frowns, touching out with her senses to see what Cain's motive is also. Is he using them to escape a rightful prison, or is he just a victim of Metatron's plotting too?
Jareth takes the tablet and looks around, and then he looks at Cain, thoughtfully, looking into the man's heart as best he can.
Mikal ties to sense Cain's motive. He's certainly sincere about wanting to leave -- he is a murderer, yes, the first murderer in fact, but there was an arrangement between him and his god. As far as he's concerned, that arrangement was not between him and Metatron, so he does not feel his incarceration here was just. As for however many of the blind Blood of Cain are here still... she seems to sense perhaps fifteen: The singers in the choiry, the one who gave pause to Norris, and a couple of others who are scattered throughout the building.
Jareth shakes his head softly, "Oh, child. You still have much to learn." He looks at Mikal and says, "I think we must leave him... for now." Jareth saw much the same that Mikal saw. But he sees that Cain has a dark heart. He is a murderer and he would not hesitate again.
Mikal looks surprised, but nods to Jareth. Turning to Cain, she says quietly, "I'm sorry. I'll pray for you." Looking back at Jareth, she tilts her head puzzledly, "Why?"
Cain blinks, looking surprised. "Wait; what?"
Mikal glances back at Cain, "I don't know yet. Let him answer, okay?"
Jareth licks his lips, "His heart is dark. He is a killer. And he would not shirk from doing it again. The anger..." He shakes his head, eyes pained, "I don't like saying it, beloved."
Mikal blinks at Jareth... then sighs slowly, her shoulders slumping a bit, "Ohhh... I see. Well, foo." She looks at the blind woman and Zillah, the only two who have spoken, "Do you know why he was put here? Was he still killing or something?" She frowns abstractedly, "Zillah and Tubal-Cain... why do those names sound so familiar to me...?" Her eyes suddenly sharpen as she stares at Zillah, "You! You're Tubal-Cain's mother, aren't you?"
Cain lets out a breath. "Hmph." He shrugs, a but of a sardonic look on his face. "Well. Hard to argue against that. It's not like I enjoyed killing Abel... or the Havelim, however you want to look at it...."
Zillah shakes her head. "The Metatron came to us. He put Cain of the Twigs in our care, to keep him here. until the LORD, the Bull of Heaven, decided that he could be released." She gives a bit of a start. "Yes. Tubal-Cain is my son."
Mikal glances at the other woman, "Are you Adah?"
The other woman inclines her head in acknowledgement.
Mikal frowns, looking around perplexedly at all those present, "But... but why do you follow him if he denies you death? The Bull, I mean?"
Mikal gets a funny look on her face, looking down into the coffin's inhabitant before she turns to ask Cain, "Are you your brother's keeper?"
The entire cathedral goes absolutely silent; it's uncanny. The only sound is the clanking of chains; Cain has reacted as if he was slapped, the question physically jolting him. "It's... it's not that simple," he says quietly, a little shakily.
Norris doesn't entirely follow what is going on. But he puts down his maul; things are unlikely to need smashing right now.
Mikal tilts her head sharply, looking oddly like a tiny bird as she does so -- a tiny bird of prey perhaps. She raises an inquiring eyebrow.
Jareth can't look at Cain, hugging himself.
Cain plunges onward: "In the Waking, it was... it was a war. Neither of our tribes wanted to fight, the Bull of Heaven told us not to, but the Havelim kept wandering into our fields, kept taking our grains. We kept trying to warn them away, but they would. Not. Listen!"
Mikal puts away her bow and folds her arms, studying Cain thoughtfully. "Were you taking their land? Why did you insist on farming, if their way of life was more favored?"
Cain's hands open and close into fists. "We hoped," he says quietly, "that one day, the Bull would see the works we were raising in his name, and find them good."
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